Erotica by Bravo - Dighton & Forrest: A Game of Golf

Part 4 of 4

1. The 7th Hole

“Those clouds are getting darker and darker,” Peter murmured as they walked up to the 7th hole.

“Yes, and the wind is really picking up,” agreed Sasha. “If my game goes any more to hell, it will be the wind’s fault.”

“I don’t think your game can get any worse,” said Peter. “Nevertheless, you’d better tee off first.”

Sasha shook her driver at him. “I’m going to get you for that, Peter,” she said.

But she teed off first, all the same.

“Ha!” she said, as the ball sailed straight and true. “Try to beat that, you!”

Peter waggled his driver a few times, then swung at his ball with all his might.

“No, no, no,” he yelled as the ball disappeared into the trees.

“Shall I help you look for it, Peter?” said Sasha sweetly.

“No, no,” said Peter, “I thank you, my darling, but I can find it myself.”

“Alright, if that’s the way you’re gonna be,” said Sasha. That was the problem with using a scene from a famous movie…or a famous book… as source material for one’s plan of seduction. Peter knew very well that she had some kind of a “ringer” ball in her pocket. If she’d managed to switch it, so that Peter would use it, he’d lose their 9-hole match, regardless of how much clothing she had left at the end of the 9th hole.

Sasha smiled to herself. She had no doubt that they’d play strip golf a couple of more times throughout the years…and sooner or later Peter would be off his guard…and then she would strike!

Time to concentrate on this bloody hole. She had to win one of them. Too shaming if she was totally shut out.

Therefore, she took her iron and approached her ball carefully. She hit the ball with three quarter speed, and it went sailing straight toward the green.

I’ve got the hang of this now, she thought.

Meantime, Peter had taken another dropped ball, and took his iron to it. The ball went back into the woods.

“Sonuvabitch,” he said.

With her next strike, she hit the ball onto the green and quite close to the pin.

Damn, she thought. I might have a chance at this one.

Peter blasted his ball out of the woods and back onto the fairway.

“Peter, look where I am,” she called.

“I see ya.”

“Hit your ball first, then you can watch me wield my putter.”

Peter took his turn, and this time managed to hit the ball relatively straight. It ended up in a bunker beside the green.

“Alright, Peter, watch this,” said Sasha, as Peter arrived.

She took her putter, assumed her stance, and putted. The ball trickled in.

“Yeah, baby!” shouted Sasha.

“Well done,” said Peter with a grin. “Now curtail your unseemly display until I finish up here.”

It took Peter two more attempts before he sank his own ball.

Sadly, Peter removed his porkpie hat as they walked back to the cart, and placed it behind his seat.

The 8th Hole

As Peter addressed the ball at the 8th tee, Sasha raised her arms high as she yawned broadly. Peter never could resist her perky bosoms.

But the bastard was too intent on addressing the ball and didn’t even notice. Damn this game!

And he hit it straight down the fairway, too.

Sasha approached her own ball on the tee a little petulantly. It was getting cold with that wind, and the clouds were overhead now.

She took several breaths to center herself, then approached the ball and swung with all her might. There was a sweet smacking sound and her own ball went sweet and true down the fairway. When it rolled to a halt it was only a few yards away from Peter’s.

“Yeah!”

Peter, concerned that he had been shanking his balls consistently to the right, approached his ball carefully. He double checked his stance, double checked his grip on the iron, and then attacked the ball.

“Hah!” he said as the ball rose into the air and dropped onto the green.

“Match that, my darling,” Peter said.

Sasha approached her ball as carefully, but her hit was less successful. The ball skittered a few yards short of the green.

It took Peter a couple of tries to get his ball into the cup, but it took Sasha three tries.

When they reached the cart, Sasha sat on the seat, then slipped off her shoe and ceremoniously stuffed it behind her seat. Peter stared at her incredulously.

“What the hell? Your shoe?”

“My shoe,” said Sasha smugly.

“We’ve only got one hole left,” pointed out Peter. “You can’t be taking off your shoes.”

“What we should have done,” said Sasha, “was agree to take 2 pieces of clothes off at a time. Too late now.”

“But you can’t take off your shoes.”

“Oh, all right, Peter, all right. If you can win this next hole, I won't take off my shoes.”

Wasn't quite the same thing, Peter griped to himself. Because she'd be taking off all her clothes at the end anyway. Not the same thing at all. The next time they played this game, if they ever did, they'd have to quantify the rules a bit better.

The 9th Hole

As they stood on the tee of the 9th hole, it began to drizzle.

Peter drove off quickly, and again hit it well. Sasha followed suit, and her ball was once again only a few yards away from Peter’s.

Peter swung hard…and the ball rose and fell after only 10 feet.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded of the gods of golf.

“Quiet, please,” said Sasha. “I need to be able to concentrate.”

Her ball went about 30 feet.

“What the hell was *that?” she demanded. She tested the rigidness of her golf club once more, but it refused to bend.

Peter’s next attempt was a bit more successful, and his Slazenger soared through the air and hit the green.

Sasha’s attempt was a bit more respectable as well, falling only just short.

The rain began to come down harder.

Peter putted toward the hole, but misjudged the ease with which the ball could roll over wet grass.

Sasha’s next attempt brought her up onto the green.

Peter attempted another putt, and his ball rolled toward the hole, rimmed it, and rolled a few feet away.

Sasha shook the water off her putter, then attempted her own shot. Her heart rose as it looked as if her ball was going to fall into the cup, but it also rimmed out.

“Bad luck, my dear,” said Peter. He knocked his ball into the hole.

“Winner, and still champion!” he cried, raising both hands in the air.

“Ye-es,” said Sasha. She wrung some water out of the bottom of her tube top.

They returned to the cart. Peter reached into the golf bag and pulled out a blanket, two champagne glasses, and a bottle of champagne.

“There’s a nice bunker over there,” said Peter. “Spread the blanket, have a glass, and then…”

A bolt of lightning shot through the black clouds…

A few seconds later, rumble thundered around them.

“Peter,” said Sasha, “Much as I’d love to make passionate love while the rain caresses our bodies…”

“Yes…?”

“And little as I know about golf, one thing I do know is that no one is supposed to be on a golf course when there’s lightning.”

“But having sex in the middle of a raging thunderstorm…it’ll be classic…”

“Well, let’s work up to that, shall we?” said Sasha. “Look…there’s an equipment shed over there. The perfect spot.”

Peter flinched as the rain came down like a solid sheet of water.

“Okay, you win,” he said. “Let’s get in that shed.”

They walked over to the shed, which was not locked, and entered. Sasha remained by the door while Peter spread out the blanket, rather wet as it was, and then concentrated on pouring champagne. When he turned around, he watched appreciatively as Sasha removed her tube top. Her breasts bobbed beautifully, glistening.

“You look beautiful, Sasha,” he said huskily.

He handed her the glass of champagne, intertwined his arm with hers, and they drank their champagne simultaneously.

Then Sasha set down her glass and began to unbutton Peter’s shirt. As he took off the unbuttoned shirt she then undid his belt and unzipped his slacks. He stepped out of them, and then he rolled up his clothes into a bundle and placed it on the blanket, laying down and resting his head upon it. Sasha straddled him and bent down to kiss him while her breasts brushed his chest.

They kissed long and deeply, while Peter cupped her breasts and rubbed them against his chest.

Sasha could feel him growing underneath her, and reached down and maneuvered around until his cock slid into her. Then, she clenched her thighs around his waist and began to rock her hips back and forth, meantime leaning down and kissing Peter’s neck, going down to his nipples and nibbling.

Peter rested his hands on her hips and lay with closed eyes, enjoying the feeling of her body on his, his cock being squeezed and massaged by her vagina, her lips nibbling and licking his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his neck.

Sasha enjoyed her own feeling of power, pleasuring herself at her own speed, enjoying the saltiness of his firm skin as she ran her tongue over every angle of his handsome face, rubbing her hands over his powerful musculature.

The rain pounded on the roof of the shed and thunder rumbled, a splendid soundtrack to their lovemaking.

Finally Sasha could feel the fluttering in her thighs that told her she was about to cum, and then a sudden flood of warmth. She clenched her legs even tighter, clenched her buttocks and rose up and down, up and down…

“Ah, god,” she said, as the pleasure hit her. She buried her fingers in Peter’s hair and buried her face in his neck as she felt the waves of pleasure ripple through her.

“Keep going,” gasped Peter.

Sasha resumed her attentions to him, and shortly afterward, Peter’s body was shuddering as well.

Afterwards, they lay there, relaxing, and kissing, as the rain continued to beat a counterpoint above their heads